


Wash All My Pain Away

by Distracted



Series: The Things That Heal Us [2]
Category: Chicago Fire
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:48:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23751094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Distracted/pseuds/Distracted
Summary: Matthew Casey has a migraine. Sylvie finds him in his quarters and takes care of him.
Relationships: Sylvie Brett/Matthew Casey
Series: The Things That Heal Us [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1712512
Comments: 14
Kudos: 91





	Wash All My Pain Away

Wash All My Pain Away

Casey presses the pillow more firmly over his eyes and groans, wishing he could just chop his head off and get it over and done with. Strange slow nausea rolls in his gut. He wants to be sick but the thought makes him shudder. His head just might split open if he so much as breathes wrong. He's freezing, suddenly, and curls into a ball, wishing he had the energy to sort the blankets out so he was under them. 

"Casey?"

The door to his quarters opens, the squeak of the hinges slicing straight through his brain. Saliva floods his mouth and he rolls, reaching blindly for the trashcan at the side of the bed, too miserable to even be humiliated. 

The surge of nausea passes and he rolls back, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. His skull feels ten sizes too small for his brain. 

A warm hand on his cheek makes him jump. He's all but forgotten the other person in the room. 

"Matt, what's going on?" Sylvie asks, pitching her voice low. 

"Migraine," he grates out, because his voice is wrecked from vomiting. 

"Do you have meds?" Her hand is still on his cheek and he shivers, suddenly aware of just how cold he is. "Okay, hang on." 

"Top drawer, desk," he says, the relentless pounding in his head making it hard to think. 

He hears her cross to the desk and realises too late that she'll need his keys. He loses track of the thought as the nausea spikes again and he has to just breathe because he really can't take puking again. 

"Hey, easy, Matt," she says, hands gently running over his body, pausing at his pocket and he dimly realises she's just frisked him.

He gets on his side in time not to choke but he's pretty sure that he missed the trashcan entirely. It adds to his misery and he had to bite back a groan. 

"Got your meds," she says. "Why didn't you take them?" she scolds gently. 

"Hit too fast," he gets out, "when it's this bad I usually just try to ride it out." He lifts one hand, knowing he's shaking, hoping she understands. He just doesn't have the coordination to inject himself once he's past a certain point. 

"Into muscle, right?" The bed dips as she sits behind him, the warmth coming from her body comforting out of all measure. 

"Yeah," he says. He'd normally stick his bicep but he's wearing a long sleeve shirt and he's honestly not sure that he can take the manhandling that would require. 

"Do you trust me, Matt?" 

Implicitly. With every fibre in his body and soul. He can't get the words out so settles for a tiny nod. Even so, he jumps a little when she unfastens his belt and trouser button, sliding the fabric down to expose the thick muscle over his hip. The injection pinches, a brief, familiar pain. She pulls his trousers back up, but leaves the button undone, working the belt off his body. It does feel more comfortable. He still has his shoes on and the bed dips as she sits by his feet to slip them off. 

"Thank you," he says, sensing that she's leaving and gets a gentle pat on the calf in return. 

"I'm not quite done with you, mister," she says but the door squeaks again so he wasn't really wrong. 

Despite the cold, he drifts for a little bit. Some of it is the drugs, which probably won't help that much this far into an attack, and some of it is just plain exhaustion. 

"I told Boden. He's calling in a floater." she says suddenly and he blinks which is a bad idea. 

Even the dim light is like an ice pick, driving straight into his brain. He'd be embarrassed by the noise that left his mouth if he had the energy. 

She drapes a blanket over him. It's warm and smells like her and the comfort he gets from that is almost worth the pain. 

"You get a banana bag." 

He edges an eye open to find her laying out stuff on his desk. It's too hard to focus so he lets it close again. 

She tugs his arm out from under the blanket and rolls his sleeve up, deftly starting an IV. She knows he's probably dehydrated and the bag will help that. 

He's drowsy, the meds or the care or the fluids finally starting to ease the migraine. "Thank you," he mumbles, reaching to pat her leg. 

She intercepts his hand, hanging on to it. "You don't have to thank me. What are friends for?" she asks, but he's already asleep. 

Feel better, Matt Casey, she thinks.


End file.
